


Bend

by SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff



Series: So Into You [4]
Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, F/M, Goddess Nicola, Pegging, Soft Malc, Strap-Ons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 23:21:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29161833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff/pseuds/SweatingHerLadyBollocksOff
Summary: Sometimes Nicola likes to be a Goddess with a Cock. Malcolm's more than happy to give it up, so to speak.
Relationships: Nicola Murray/Malcolm Tucker
Series: So Into You [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2114823
Comments: 18
Kudos: 11





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not super sure on this one but I hope you enjoy!

Nicola Murray has truly astonishing thighs. It's not quite a truth universally acknowledged, more a fact appreciated with great dedication by a small inner circle. Gemma, her best mate, Sam and Rachel, who have taken to applauding whenever Nicola turns up to a pub garden in shorts, and of course Malcolm, who admires her thighs altogether more quietly, but with a greater sense of reverence. It's her thighs he's looking at now, though personally she'd have thought the new introduction of a fairly significant silicone appendage between the top of them might have been more interesting to him than the legs she's had since they met. Apparently not. She watches him watching her, and it's definitely her thighs he's most interested in. His gaze feels almost palpable in its intensity, rolling over the curves and creases of her skin like water droplets after a hot shower. 'Well?' she asks eventually, quietly, when his silence becomes a little unnerving. Perhaps she looks ridiculous. She doesn't feel ridiculous, not anymore, she's spent weeks wearing it around the house whenever she was alone, first just the harness and then with the cock as well, until she felt - well, like it was hers. Part of her. And yet it's never possible to see yourself quite how others do. So perhaps she does look silly. Perhaps that's why Malcolm is staring at the curve of her knees rather than at her cock. The cock. Whichever. It takes him a long moment to look up at her, from where he’s sat on the end of the bed like a kid waiting for Christmas. ‘Oh –‘ is all he says, as his gaze slowly travels up her legs, and pauses for a long moment to evaluate the newcomer before meeting her own. ‘Oh?’ She repeats back at him, noticing enough of his little tells to know that she doesn’t look ridiculous. She looks fucking great. 

‘I mean, uh – ye look fucking wonderful, Nics’ Malcolm manages eventually, reaching out for her but stopping himself just a few inches away from her skin, as if asking permission. Ridiculous. She takes a step forward, neatly slotting the edge of her thigh into his outstretched hand, feeling him start to fiddle with the harness, running his fingers under the edges of it. Just getting acquainted. She’s not sure why she suddenly has an urge to wrap her hand around the back of his neck, lean in and kiss the top of his head, but she gives in to it before she has a moment for self-analysis. 

  
They stay there for a few long moments, until Malcolm shifts underneath her hand and looks up at her again. ‘Have ye thought any more about – about how ye want to -?’ he asks, much less articulate than usual. It’s not a lack of confidence or an insecurity that’s got him stumbling, though, there’s no tell-tale tightening of his lips or wrinkling of his nose. So she lets him stumble on, simply getting acquainted. ‘I thought you might want to go on top, to start with. Since you’re – a little more experienced.’ It’s a tactful choice of words on her part – she’d been half opting for ‘a cock-hungry tart’ until she reached the part where she actually had to say it. Save that one for later, perhaps. She can see him considering it, looking at the bed and then back at her as if he’s playing it out in his head, imaging how it’ll go, what it’ll feel like. She can’t blame him – she’s thought of very little else for the past three weeks. Eventually he shakes his head, and she forces herself not to think the worst. ‘Nah. Ye’ll be fucking knackered. S’not as easy as it seems to you when you’re sitting pretty up there’ he grins, and she has to admit he’s probably right. She’s never quite worked out how he always manages to get the timing right, to thrust upwards at just the moment she needs him. Perhaps something a little more traditional is in order whilst they work out how this all fits together. ‘I’ll – ‘ Malcolm begins, and then realises he doesn’t really need to give a detailed description, he could just bloody well get on with it. She watches him with a sparkle of curiosity, wondering what he’ll go for. When he grabs a pillow, lays it flat on the bed and settles, naked, with his hips atop it and his head nestled back in the arrangement of softer ones at the head of the bed, she smiles a little and nods. ‘Good choice, my favourite" she teases. ‘Fuckin pillow princess’ is what she gets in return, earning him an affable eye-roll. 

'Tell me if it's too much' she murmurs, settling beside him and making sure the lube was within easy reach. 'I've had more back door shags than you've had lemon zingers, love' he reminds her, and it's so utterly ridiculous that she laughs and the odd little uncertainty in the air is gone. Still, despite his experience there's time yet for tenderness and care, and she settles down next to him and tangles their legs together as they kiss. Deeply, longingly, lingeringly, and it feels as always like the disparate pieces that make up her mind have clicked together and solidified as a whole. He's lazy, relaxed, which is exactly how she wants him. Not quite so relaxed when she kisses along his collarbone, and then down to lick a stripe over his nipple, but the little whimper he makes is perfectly lovely in its own right. Her hand that isn't going slightly numb underneath her own body weight is lingering somewhere on his thigh, her thumb stroking over the slightly raised bone of his pelvis. Skinny git. 'Y'ready, love?' She murmurs into the soft warm skin of his chest, which ruins any element of surprise, but it's important that she knows. 'Mmm. Always.' 

It's no longer unusual to reach for the half empty bottle of the posh lube he insists on buying off the specialist website, to slick up her fingers (rings removed) and gently slide them across the crease of his arse. The way he shivers is beyond gorgeous, especially in combination with the dark pink flush that creeps along his neck and collarbones. He's so beautiful like this, long and leggy and lean, stretching out his back as he arches softly off the bed when she slides a finger inside. She takes her time, working him up until he's twitching, then slides another in and watches as he gasps. She has tiny hands, far tinier than Jamie's, or that bloke, a "friend from the Standard" who they'd bumped into on Hampstead Heath and who made Malcolm go all shy and awkward. So it's not the stretch, can't be, it has to be something about her. Which is - intoxicating, to be honest. She chases it, the way she can make him moan, the way his toes curl as she crooks her fingers slightly. 'So fucking gorgeous' she mumbles, leaning in and kissing his neck, sucking a deep purple mark into the soft spot near his shoulder. She barely even remembers that she's got a fucking cock, that's pressing into his thigh and the mattress, until she arches her hips forward instinctively, leaning up to kiss his lips, and the base of it presses right against her clit. Fuck. Perhaps this evening might not be as selfless as she'd envisaged. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Switched up the POV and the speech marks because I like to live dangerously.

For her twenty first birthday, Nicola's mum gave her a necklace. A simple, delicate gold chain with a crescent moon pendant, he's seen in countless times in photos of her. Tucked into a blouse, wild and free next to tanned collarbones on a night out, or adorning a lilac skirt suit, it's ever-present in the photo albums until she meets James, where it starts to fade out until it disappears entirely. He'd presumed she'd lost it, until she took over the entire bedroom sorting out her jewellery one day and he'd spent a good hour "helping her", also known as doing important undercover research. Everything was silver or rose gold, except this one gold chain, the one she's wearing right now. With nothing else. Not a scrap, except the bold straight lines of the fabric harness and the even bolder lines of her new cock. She hadn't been wearing it this morning, so it's part of it, the Look. What's she trying to tell him? That she enjoyed a brief period in her early twenties of fucking men senseless before settling down with that Vanilla Oatmeal beige twat? Unlikely. Though moderately appealing. Is it a confidence thing? He thinks back to when he's last seen it - pub, summer, Sammy, Jamie, a floaty summer dress that made her look like a Boden model. Not a confidence thing. She wears the locket for confidence, or the chunky Prue Leith inspired things. This is elegant, slim, falling just between her collarbones, the curve of the moon and the crest of her breasts and - and - fucking Christ. She presses the tip of her cock just inside of him, and any capacity for rational thought flies straight into the bedroom window like a concussed pigeon. "Okay?" She asks, low and sultry and just a little like she'd had at least three preparatory smokes, and he realises he'd let his blasphemous declaration slip out loud. "Aye. Yeah- s'good, keep -" he encourages, lifting one leg and wrapping it around her waist, allowing him to gently press his heel into her arse and gently shift her forward. 

"Demanding" she accuses, shifting forward just an inch or so, and the stretch is gorgeous but the tentative nature of her movements really isn't doing it for him. "Tease" he counters, letting his leg fall back to the bed and willing her on with his eyes instead. "Please, Nic'la-" he tries after a moment that feels about ten minutes too long, though in actual fact it's probably barely one. She looks up, pupils wide and lips slightly parted, as if she's literally only just remembered she was supposed to be fucking him, and not just staring at the way her cock slid inside of him. For the world's most demanding princess, she really hasn't been paying attention to what it is he Does to get her wailing like that. It usually involves some sort of movement, that's fairly central. She seems to tag on eventually, moving from her hips in the way he'd taught her the other night, and there we fucking go, that's a hell of a lot better. It's not a huge cock, nothing monstrous or extreme, just a simple, smooth, curved appendage that really doesn't look like a cock at all. But she's definitely fucking like she's been the proud owner of a well-used trouser snake her entire life, now she's gotten into it. She's got the hang of the rhythm, slow but satisfying, complimenting the deep, targeted angle she's achieving with the curve of the cock, occasionally switching it up with a little wiggle of her hips here or there. He can't be more specific than that - at some point not long after she slid into him fully, his eyes have screwed shut and he's gasping, panting, clutching at her back like a Regency heroine ripping off a fresh white shirt. 

There's no shirt, just the soft, warm skin of Nicola's gorgeous, ever-touchable back, starting to get ever so slightly sweaty as she fucks into him. It's good, great, ever so nearly perfect, but something about it isn't quite - he just needs a little more - "can we - Christ, Nic - can we switch it up?" He's never fucking said that in his life, fucking "switch it up", and as he opens his eyes he can see a tangle of confusion on her eyebrows, and realises she clearly thinks this has been a disaster, and now he's going to - fuck her up the arse? Jesus. That'll teach him to talk when he's being fucked. "Not- you're fucking great, Nics, gorgeous, s'great, I just want - I want ye to fuck me from behind" he admits, realising he's just going to have to get it out there before she starts convincing herself she's done something wrong. "Oh! Oh, yeah, of course, I-" she slides out far too quickly, and he tries not to wince. With great cock comes great responsibility, she's yet to learn that important lesson. But there's a muffled "sorry" as she presses a kiss to his chest, and that's really more than enough to soothe over the sting. So to speak. 

He's embarrassingly at ease on all fours, soft arse pointed skywards like a noughties spank mag cover, tummy taught as he curves downwards to rest his arms on the bed. She settles behind him, a surprisingly comforting weight given the situation, and he lets himself moan rather too loudly as she eases the cock back into him, her hips pressed flush against his arse. Not being able to see his face seems to stop her mind going at quite such a frentic pace, and she makes up for it by diverting the energy into the relentless thrust of her hips. Christ alive. This is probably going to become her new favourite workout. Legs bums and tums can get fucked. She's not quite a master of the right angle yet, but it's never too hard or too deep, she fucks him just right and besides, he's always found a relentless prostate nudger to be a rather overwhelming technique. Nicola is exploring him, learning him, and that's far, far better any day of the week. 

It's a sneaky twist of his nipple that begins to draw him from great through to fucking great on the way to spectacular. Nicola's bent over him a little now, her breasts brushing against his back, her little hand on his shoulder as she fucks into him, just hard enough to get him gasping. He feels a bead of sweat drip down from her, somewhere (probably the crease between her breasts), and it should by all rights be utterly disgusting, but something about the rawness of it, the way she's giving him everything she's got and more, always more - it's enough to get him very close indeed. He refuses to come untouched. It'll give her far too much power, inflate a delicate but deep-rooted ego that's beginning to bloom. Nicola, he has a handle on by now - Nicola who knows she could get him off with not even the slightest brush of a finger on his cock, would utterly ruin him. Instead, he gasps her name, almost hears the responding grin, and hopes he asks rather than begs when he says "touch me, please Nic, fuckin touch me." If he was begging, she's nice enough not to mention it. And kind enough to remember the lube before she wraps her hand around his cock and urges him to fuck forward into her fist as she's fucking into him, and its all - all a little - Fuck. 

His orgasm is bright white and pulsing, electric, like what he imagines comes out if you open one of those National Grid substations you sometimes see at the side of the road. Nicola practically purrs as he comes over her hand, her thighs shaking almost as much as his, a heady mix of exertion and adoration making her collapse against his back and kiss the soft nubs of his spine. Eventually, she pulls out, much gentler this time, and tucks him into her chest against the pillows, where he stretches and settles, blissful and boneless. He presses a kiss just below the crescent moon, catching a tang of salt on his lips and a breath of lily of the valley on his inhale. She's fucking perfect. Always was, always will be. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of my planned double sets of fics, so please let me know any recs in the comments (or the dms if we're on filthy first name terms). 
> 
> Go Wild honestly. No shame in my game.


End file.
